


Alluvium - Chapter 5

by AWizardWithoutHerStaff



Series: Alluvium - Uprooted from Sarkan's POV [5]
Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M, Light Angst, POV Sarkan, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWizardWithoutHerStaff/pseuds/AWizardWithoutHerStaff
Summary: There was achancethis one had simply woken hungry on a particularly warm winter’s day, just as there was achancethat the girl would manage to keep herself out of trouble for the duration of my absence. I did not believe either circumstance to be particularly likely.Chapter 5 of Uprooted from Sarkan's point of view. In which he has somefeelings, fights a chimaera, rides to Dvernik, and has a very bad end to his day.This is a re-write of Uprooted from Sarkan's point of view – it follows the story of Uprooted very closely and will spoil stuff if you've not read the book. The characters, the story and dialogue between Agnieszka and Sarkan belong to Naomi Novik, though in this chapter I've filled in a lot of stuff we don't see in the original book.This was a weird project which came out of the COVID-19 pandemic, when it got hard to concentrate on my own writing and this seemed like a suitably mad thing to get into.
Relationships: Agnieszka & The Dragon | Sarkan, Agnieszka/The Dragon | Sarkan
Series: Alluvium - Uprooted from Sarkan's POV [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693372
Comments: 45
Kudos: 79





	Alluvium - Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, it's 1am and I've been writing this obsessively and I really need to go to bed. 
> 
> Screw it, I'm posting it, so it's probably even more raw and unpolished than ever.
> 
> This was so much fun, so much so that I didn't really stop once I'd started, or really think much about what I was actually writing so... welcome. I hope what was in my head has made it onto the page.
> 
> I can't even begin to tell you how much I'm enjoying writing this fic, and how much your comments mean to me. I'm so happy you're coming along for this wild ride. Thank you so much - your comments just make me grin all day long.
> 
> To any new readers - welcome to the madness. This is part 5 - there are 4 more parts which all pretty closely mirror the chapters of Uprooted.
> 
> As always, I hope you're safe and well out there.  
> xxx

# Alluvium

## Chapter 5

The horse’s hooves thudded against the road in a steady, rolling drumbeat. I could hear its deep breathes heaving like a bellows with each stride; Vladimir’s messenger had ridden it hard from the mountain pass – this creature would just about get me to Olshanka but no further. The savage bite of a winter’s wind whipped at my face and hands, all the colder against the heat of my skin. The knuckles of my hands turned pink, then white, abused by the icy air.

 _‘Vanalem,’_ I slurred the word like one of the girl’s profanities, holding in my mind the need for warmth and protection.

Black leather gloves grew over my hands like a second skin, and I was immediately enveloped in a thick woollen jerkin, a long cloak snapping out behind me in the wind. I expected the horse to shy at the touch of my magic, but the beast drove onwards, single-minded in its exhaustion – a sentiment I could fully appreciate.

Thankfully, my approach from the tower had been observed by the townsmen, and the Mayor of Olshanka was a fastidious, efficient sort of man. He met me on the road, a few of the younger men standing behind him, ready for whatever disaster had brought me unannounced to the edge of their town.

‘My lord Dragon,’ the mayor greeted me with a bow, though his questing eyes kept sliding over me, looking for some explanation of what I was doing there.

‘I need a horse, Alexei,’ was all I said – I had no time for his questions.

‘At once, my lord.’ He waved away one of the boys, who immediately turned and ran in the direction of the stables.

The messenger’s horse stamped forward and back, still wrung out from the hard ride, thin clouds of steam drifting from its lathered hide. The other boy ran forward to grab hold of its bridle, calming it and clapping the huge creature reassuringly on the neck. He eyed _me_ as if I were a real dragon who might decide to take a bite out of him at any moment, and abruptly I realised how used I’d become to the clear and unfaltering gaze of the girl.

‘See to this horse,’ I said. ‘One of the baron’s men will be following me down from the tower on foot – offer him one of my horses in exchange for his.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

A woman appeared next to me, proffering up an unimaginative offering of warm wine and plain, brown fruitcake. I waved them away almost instinctively – and then hesitated. ‘See to the man’s needs – offer him refreshment.’ His short time in the valley would not be enough for the Spindle’s magic to affect him, and the man had ridden hard and fast to reach me, whether he’d truly seen a chimaera or not.

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘Good.’ I waved the boy away from the horse and took the fractious beast back under my control. I turned it down the road and drove it on in a last, swift trot towards the stables, not waiting to see if the mayor followed behind me.

Back on the road, I made quick progress, driving the horse hard along the hard-packed snow. The Valley slid past to my right, in rolling fields under a quilt of white, carved into thin rivulets and banking drifts by the wind; they caught the light of the sun and glittered with tiny pinpoints of bright light. I raced past thatched houses puffing grey smoke into the icy air and men leading animals out into the snowy fields, a dog slinking along at their heels. They hung back and watched me pass, peacefully ignorant of the danger which lurked barely a day’s ride from their homes.

But they weren’t ignorant; not really. The shadow of the Wood was reflected in their eyes, and I was a black herald of approaching disaster. I am certain each of them heaved a sigh of relief as I flew past, relieved that today I didn’t turn down the road into the valley – that I didn’t turn towards _their_ village or ask for _their_ service.

Behind them, in the distance, the Wood loomed – a thick black wall blocking out the horizon. At its very edge, the silver boughs hung heavy with heaped white snow, looking for all the world like a normal forest, and yet nothing touched the shadows which lay beneath them. A breeze rolled through the claw-like branches: a creaking, groaning roar, which spread back deep into the impenetrable heart. It felt like it whispered away from me, carrying word of my journey to whatever unspeakable horror watched from within. Unease clenched in my stomach, as if I had swallowed something cold and particularly indigestible.

_What are you planning?_

A chimaera was a corrupt beast: an animal twisted and distorted by the dark magic until it bore little resemblance to the creature from which it had grown. It was a child of the Wood, if ever there was one, poisoned and malignant. Once they erupted from the thick canopy, they hunted relentlessly. Children were their preferred quarry. They’d take cattle and sheep to begin with, picking them off from the edges of settlements, until perhaps they took the shepherd himself – or his young family – and realised they enjoyed the taste of people rather more than animals.

There was a chance this one had simply woken hungry on a particularly warm winter’s day, just as there was a _chance_ that the girl would manage to keep herself out of trouble for the duration of my absence. I did not believe either circumstance to be particularly likely. No, if a chimaera had truly come to the Yellow Marshes in the depths of winter, then it was far more likely that it had been _woken_ and _sent._ The Wood was no mindless enemy: it had watched and planned and grown in its cruelty for long years beyond our reckoning. It knew me for its enemy, as surely as it knew I must answer the baron’s call for aid. Was this, then, simply another attempt on my life?

I couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness that settled over me. Nothing about the Wood was ever so simple. It was stirring – _awake_ – and it was waiting.

The bite of the wind felt suddenly colder, the landscape unnaturally quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic pounding of my horse’s hooves against the road and the low roar of the Spindle, muffled and deepened by a thick layer of ice. The sound filled my ears, feeling suddenly closer, and I could feel the strands of magic which twisted through it, tugging at my own. The touch of it was so familiar to me now, so similar to the girl’s wild, untamed power, that I couldn’t help but think of her.

She was everything that the Wood would want: a new witch, vulnerable and untrained, a rich artery of power and potential. The Wood was a predator and, given the chance, it would swallow her up long before she even began to realise her power. Yet it couldn’t know about her – could it? _I_ had not known about her until she had stood right before me, and her flailing attempts to utter simple cantrips would surely not have been enough to stoke its interest. But there had always been more to her than that, hadn’t there?

For the first time in many years, I faltered in my duty. Tracking and killing the chimaera could take many weeks – months even – and during that time I was leaving her alone and utterly unprotected. The horse sensed the wavering of my resolve and began to slow, the steady rhythm of our passage stumbling out to a slow trot. I twisted in the saddle, looking back along the snaking road which tracked the base of the mountains, back to where my tower jutted out from the hillside like white bone. It always felt like a mistake, riding out of the Valley and putting the Wood at my back. Now more than ever, I ached to turn back around, to kick my horse to a gallop and ride full pelt back to the tower.

But I could not ignore the baron’s call for aid.

The tower was a fine prison. It had stood for centuries, its smooth stone unmarred by the Wood’s onslaught, and its foundations were even older still. Old, old magic pulsed through its veins: magic of warding, of protecting – and of containment. It had outlived all of us – all of the protectors of this valley – and she would surely be safe enough within its walls. Would that I could say the same of my possessions, locked as they were in there with her.

I shook myself, reassured of my own foolishness, and turned my horse’s head back up the road. I drove us onwards, trying not to imagine what she would be doing at that moment. Still sulking, no doubt, or knee-deep in some unfolding disaster of her own design. Indeed, I was quite sure that the tower – ancient and unmoved by the Wood as it was – had more to fear from _her_ than she did from any of the Wood’s machinations. I would likely return to find half of my stores frittered away in idle profligacy and all the best furnishings reduced to cinders; I could only hope that my library had already taught _its_ lesson.

It was hours before I reached the mountain pass, and the sun had already sunk below the horizon. I’d used charms of quickening and strength to refresh my horse, and I made good time to the base of the mountains. Now though, I trekked up a steep and winding trail, and progress was perilously slow. A globe of bright flame lit our path, maintained with a steady trickle of my power; it cast long, flickering shadows against the craggy slopes. Still, I dared not drive the horse faster, letting it pick its way steadily up the crumbling path, its ears flicking back as thin stones scattered and tumbled away into the darkness.

The long hours of riding were beginning to take their toll: the beast’s breath came in rapid puffs of steam which curled, ghostly and luminescent in the light of my magic. My own legs and back burned with exhaustion, and I was forced to admit that I would likely need to seek the meagre hospitality of a village inn before I would reach Vladimir’s men; to use any of the potions now – when I knew not how long I would be away from the tower – would be a waste I could ill afford, and to come before any beast of the Wood in a state of exhaustion was nothing short of idiocy.

It felt like hours before I rounded a curve in the road and came – at last – in view of the land beyond the Valley. The moon was a sliver as thin as a fingernail, so the hills and fields lay before me in darkness as black as pitch. Except – I could see tiny points of light on the road far below, bobbing and weaving through the darkness: torches. And yes, sure enough, I could hear voices on the wind as it whined around my ears – yelling men and the high sound of ringing steel. There was a sudden burst of light, and swirling flames illuminated the scene in black silhouettes limned in gold. I could see men on horseback, bristling with pikes and polearms, and above them was the beast itself, its wings beating back in great sweeping motions. It bore down on them, roaring fire pouring from its mouth, the flames illuminating its serpentine body and thin, bat-like wings

So it _was_ a chimaera.

A few seconds of the scene was all I saw before it plunged back into darkness, but it was enough. I drove my horse as fast as I dared on the steep, narrow road. With cold-stiffened fingers, I clicked open the case at my side and reached within for a potion of restoring vitality – the red-violet bottle the girl had almost replaced with deadly fire-heart. I twisted the cork free between my thumb and forefinger and took a single small swallow before slotting it carefully back into its place: it tasted of thick black cherries, violets and almost unbearable sweetness. I could feel the warmth hit the back of my throat and track all the way down into my gut. The effect was almost immediate – the muscles between my shoulders smoothed out and relaxed, my mind resolved into sharp clarity and my magic stirred hot within me.

The ride down the mountainside was almost unbearable, caught between caution and haste, the sound of the battle always just beyond my reach. As soon as I reached the road at the base of the mountains, I lost sight of the baron’s men. The bright orange and yellow light still lit the sky in flashes above me and once or twice I saw the black outline of beating wings. I kicked my horse to a gallop and leaned into the wind, racing towards them as fast as the beast would carry me.

‘Pull back!’ the baron’s voice boomed cleanly over the sound of clamouring men.

I could see a group of them, huddled together into a knot of human flesh and points of bright steel, looking for all the world like a human pincushion: a pretty target for the chimaera’s flames.

‘Get back, you fools!’ I yelled, adding my voice to the baron’s.

I couldn’t see the beast, but I could smell it – salt and sulphur, and the unmistakable stench of goat. There was a ‘whoosh’ of wingbeats above our heads. My horse was already twitching with fear and I placed a hand against its neck. ‘ _Kalik kalik nyehnhen_ ,’ I whispered the spell to sooth it, and not a moment too soon: an ear-splitting screech pierced the air above our heads. And then came the searing heat of the flames. I pulled up alongside the scrabbling pikemen and threw up one hand, my voice ringing out, ‘ _Polzyem t_ _uzaya pajz_ _üt_!’ The fire hit my magic and spilled around us, creating a shimmering dome outlined in hungry flames; they licked across its surface and scorched the earth in a wide ring around our feet.

Vladimir drew breathlessly up alongside me. His round face was flushed red above his beard and he carried a great poleaxe easily in one hand: one might almost believe he was enjoying himself.

‘You do like a dramatic entrance,’ he called out by way of greeting.

‘Lucky for you,’ I said dryly. The chimaera screamed and swooped away in frustration, but I maintained the shield over our heads. ‘What do you mean by attacking before I arrived?’

‘We brought the beast to you, didn’t we?’ he answered cheerfully. ‘My men have been harrying it since Dedna. It only got ahead of us at the last stretch.’

Sure enough, I could hear the sound of pounding feet and rattling armour as more men approached us from the north.

‘Get them to form up here where I can shield them – we need to get it to attack us head-on.’ I slid from my horse’s back and handed it off to one of the baron’s men: for the next part I needed to be focused and firmly rooted to the ground. ‘Send your best archers to me.’

The baron was already moving away from me. ‘You heard him! Form up! Archers to the Dragon! Keep that beast away from him – _he_ dies, _you_ die!’

I felt my mouth twist into half a smile. The baron was a simple man to deal with. He was loud, brash, and as far from cultured as one could throw a stone and still have it land in polite society. He would drink with his men as often as he would fight with them, but fight alongside them he would. There was a straightforward loyalty to him and in matters concerning magic, he would do what I said without hesitation; it had saved us both on more than one occasion.

Bodies shuffled around me, a careful distance laid between us. Good. I needed the space to work. The beast swooped back over, and the men around me flinched as flames beat down upon the sphere of magic, unsure whether to be more frightened of the chimaera’s fire or of me and my power.

‘Archers, aim for its wings!’ I ordered. ‘We must bring it to the ground.’

The archers alone would achieve very little, of course. A corrupted beast needs to be killed by fire or beheading, or a clean shot through the eye could do the trick. Any injury to its wings would heal quickly and likely only annoy the beast. That said, a well-placed shot could speed my work of coaxing it to the ground and, at the very least, it would give the men purpose: an occupied man is less likely to flee.

My first aim was to slow it down. Dawn was already lightening the sky, painting the sky in pale yellow and washed-out grey. The world around us was encased in glittering ice, the ground only melted where the beast had scorched the earth in great black swathes. It was already bitterly cold – that the monster was still aloft in these conditions was really quite remarkable. Cold was the enemy of the chimaera, slowing their bodies, their blood, their minds. My aim was simple: to use that cold to drain its strength – slow it down and force it back to the ground where we could more easily fight it.

I had to maintain the shield about our heads, but no one – not even me – can cast two workings at once. Instead, I began the careful process of intertwining the spells into a single, higher order working. It felt a lot like splitting my magic into two long, gleaming threads and then weaving them delicately back together again. I moved my hands in careful, precise motions while whispering the words into the frost-laden air, dropping a syllable here, picking up another there, counting them out like stitches in wool.

The temperature dropped. Ice cracked out in thin silver branches around my feet. A wind gathered about me, sending my cloak fluttering against my ankles. There was nothing else now – I was barely aware of the cluster of soldiers around me: there was only the cold, the bright streaming path of my magic, and the sense of the beast, its dark magic twisting against mine. I waited. There – it came again, the great whoosh and snap of leathery wings above our heads. With one quick motion, I threw the magic up and towards it, every fraction of my will behind it.

It screamed when the cold hit it, silvery frost crawling over its furred head and scaled hide. It stumbled in the air, listing to one side, a long claw drooping down towards us. Every beat of its wings came slow and laboured, barely able to keep it aloft. It banked away from us and limped through the air, each struggling flap bringing it closer and closer to the ground.

‘After it!’ I yelled. ‘It’s going to ground! Don’t let the beast out of your sight!’

Horses were already galloping after it and someone thrust the reins of my horse back into my hands. I swung onto my horse’s back, barely registering my own actions. As soon as I had released the working, I had felt a great deal of my strength go with it. But there was no time – now was our chance.

When I caught up to the riders, they already had the beast surrounded, their pikes levelled at its frost-covered hide. As I had hoped, the icy cold had stolen the beast’s fiery breath. It crouched against the ground in a snarling mass of claws and pointed wings, deformed and monstrous. The yellow eyes of its goat’s head didn’t seem to look at any one thing together, and a great black tongue lolled wetly out of its mouth. It gnashed its jaws, long teeth dripping with venom, and reached forward with strange, twisted limbs.

The baron’s men stayed back beyond its reach, knowing well that a cornered beast is all the more dangerous for its fear.

‘Give me an arrow,’ I ordered the archer next to me.

He immediately obeyed. I took the shaft in one gloved hand and passed my other hand over it, muttering words of force, guidance and death. It lengthened and sharpened within my fist, the last of my strength pouring into it.

‘Its eye,’ my breath came a little quickly as I passed it back down to the soldier. ‘It won’t miss.’

The soldier paled a little, but he knew his duty. He notched his bow, drew back and let fly, and the arrow shot forward like a streak of pale lightening, drawn towards its target by the lingering threads of my magic. There was no scream, so quickly did the shaft bury itself deep into the creature’s skull; the soldiers at the front had to stumble back and away from the body as it slumped forward to the ground. For a moment there was breathless silence, and then a cheer went up from the surrounding men.

‘Don’t just stand there like idiots!’ I yelled. ‘Take off its head!’

I gripped the front of my saddle with one hand and held myself very straight, careful to hide the exhaustion I could feel sinking over me.

‘It’s dead, Sarkan,’ said the baron, drawing his horse alongside mine. ‘You know it is. Let the men enjoy their success.’

‘I’m sure their _enjoyment_ will be greatly enhanced when it wakes up and takes off one of their heads,’ I hissed back at him, though in truth I did think the beast was dead. In the end, it had only been a small one – little bigger than a pony. Was this, then, the sum of the Wood’s efforts? Maybe it _had_ just woken on a warm winter’s day.

‘A chimaera dead and only ten men lost – a great success, I’d wager.’

‘A small chimaera,’ I reminded him. ‘Though I admit you did well to lure it so close to the pass.’

The baron seemed to puff up a little. ‘Cost me a small fortune in calves – we staked them along the road to bring it down here. Still, a price worth paying, if you ask me. A great success.’

I rolled my eyes a little but didn’t argue with him; he was right, it was a small price to pay to be rid of a chimaera, even with the deaths of his men.

By now, the men had hacked the head of the chimaera free: it fell with a thump and rolled against the ground, the black tongue trailing out behind it. Another cheer went up and the baron joined in. I did not.

‘Come, Sarkan, come; rest and celebrate with us!’ Vladimir had a bright glint in his eyes when he turned back to me. ‘Dedna is not far and the inn there is quite respectable, I assure you.’

I gave him a slow, sidelong glance. ‘Yes, because I do so enjoy your _celebrations_.’

Vladimir, as always, was relentless. ‘First time for everything, I’d say.’

I grimaced inwardly. I needed to rest, I couldn’t escape that – would that I could escape the drinking and inevitable _singing_ that would accompany it.

At that moment, I was ‘saved’ by red-faced soldier hurrying towards us. ‘My lord baron! Lord Dragon! A rider has come out of the pass.’

I grew cold and rigid in the saddle. ‘What?’ I demanded. ‘What is it?’

‘There are beacons lit, my lord.’

My hands closed into fists and I must have pulled on the reins, for my horse twitched and backed up a few steps. ‘Where? Where are they lit to?’

‘I don’t know, my lord; Vitaly – the messenger – said they were lit all the way down the valley.’

Zatochek. Of course. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. This was _everything_ I’d feared. The chimaera was nothing – a distraction, meant to lure me away and keep me from my real duty to the Valley. I had played right into the Wood’s clawing hands. The worst of it was that part of me had known, had felt the danger I _knew_ was coming, and yet I’d ridden blindly on anyway.

‘I’ll send my men with y—’ the baron started, but I interrupted him.

‘I’m faster alone.’ If I could just get back to my tower, the transport spell would take me to Zatochek in a moment. ‘If I need help, I’ll send for it.’

‘Hold on, now. Sarkan, wa—’

I didn’t wait for his answer, turning my horse away and hitting the road at a gallop.

It was past noon by the time I reached the top of the mountain pass, but I could still see the beacons. I counted them back along the valley, tracking their path along the Spindle, past Vyosna and Kamik and— wait. Not Zatochek. Dvernik. The beacons stopped at Dvernik.

‘Agnieszka of Dvernik,’ I whispered to myself.

Dread sank down through me like a stone through water. She’d have seen these beacons as clearly as I could. I knew— I _knew_ the blundering halfwit would not sit safely back in the tower at the sight of her precious home in danger; she was exactly fool enough to have charged blindly out to save them with nothing but hope and sentimental nonsense in her head. I was already urging my horse forward, pushing it recklessly down the steep path. Stones slipped and skittered beneath its hooves and I lurched unsteadily in the saddle.

‘Idiot,’ I hissed between my teeth, unsure if I meant the girl or myself.

Riding the horse half to death, I reached my tower by nightfall. As soon as I was within the range of tower’s magic, I jumped from the beast’s back, forgetting it and the precious case of potions strapped to its side as I did. The words of the transport spell were already in my mouth even as I hit the ground, and I stepped through a shimmering window and out onto the village green at Dvernik with the last of my magic surging to my fingertips.

The smell hit me immediately, filling my nostrils with the cloying scent of burning flesh. Smoke stung my watering eyes and it took a second for me to understand what I was seeing. There was a fire burning in one of the pens, great roaring flames of red, gold and green – fire-heart, I knew immediately. Villagers were still crowded around it, sitting, leaning, their faces smeared with dirt, ash and exhaustion. And relief. Broken rakes and pitchforks lay scattered around them, and I was pleased to see that they’d dug a deep firebreak around the edge of the pen. Of what had been _in_ the pen, nothing was left but ash – a fate which would have met half the Valley had they not been prepared.

‘My lord.’ The headwoman – Danka – was unfolding wearily from where she had been leaning against a barn door. She had ugly red burns and puffed white blisters on her hands and wrists, though she held her arm stiffly at her side as if she meant to hide them from me.

‘What happened here?’ I asked, beckoning briskly that she should give me her arm.

‘Agnies… the dragon-born girl, my lord,’ she said, tentatively placing her hand in mine. ‘She came to us while you were away – we’d thought you gone to the Yellow Marshes and did not expect you for weeks.’

‘Yes, yes,’ I said, impatiently, ‘I am here now. What happened?’ I began a small charm of healing, suddenly remembering the case of potions I’d so witlessly abandoned at the tower. As I worked, the exhaustion pressed down hard upon me.

To her credit, the headwoman did not flinch away. She stiffened and looked to one side, her chin thrust forward as the spell did its work. ‘It got into the cattle – the corruption. We penned them in, but they were wild with it.’ She took a sharp breath as the magic rippled over her skin and smoothed the burns away. ‘We’d tried to burn them, but the fire wouldn’t take. But then Ag…’ she faltered, unsure how to address our newest witch. ‘When the dragon-born girl arrived, we laid the pen with firewood and hay, and lit it with fire-heart, my lord. We held them back until the fire took hold – they’re all burned, all the corrupted animals.’

I turned towards the pen, feeling the heat of the flames wash against my face. It was a ruinous waste of fire-heart, but I had to admit it _had_ worked. Against all odds, it seemed like she’d managed to contain the corruption. I could see a place where the broken fence had been repaired with magic, the messy fingerprints of her power all over it; so, she _had_ learnt something, after all.

‘Do you know the source of the corruption?’ I asked.

‘One of the cattle was bitten, my lord. A wolf bite, it looked like.’

My relief drained away and I turned sharply towards her. ‘And where is the girl?’

‘There was another taken with the corruption, my lord,’ she said hurriedly. ‘A cattle-herder: Jerzy. She went to see if there was anything she could do to help him. She has yet to return.’

 _More_ idiocy. My heart thumped uneasily against my chest. ‘Show me.’

I strode after the headwoman, wading through thick snow towards the edge of Dvernik. Darkness was closing in around us but I resisted the urge to make any kind of light – some part of me knew this wasn’t yet over. I stared hard at Danka’s back, willing her to move faster, though in truth my own stiff legs were aching with every step.

The house itself was easily the smallest and most fallen-down building in all of Dvernik, and quite possibly the whole Valley. The gate was rotten and hanging off one broken hinge, the roof in sore need of urgent repairs. Without seeing anything else, I could guess why this man was the one who had been bitten – culling his cows was as much of a death sentence to him as the corruption had been. And now he could be just as deadly to Agnieszka. When the headwoman went to knock, I pushed impatiently past her and threw open the door.

Inside, the house was just as dark and dilapidated as the outside, one small fire and a single candle burning in the window. A woman, heavily pregnant, sat in a rocking chair by the fire, her haunted face too hollowed-out for grief. She barely lifted her head as I walked in, but when she saw it was the Dragon who entered her home, her eyes grew wide and round with false hope.

‘My lord,’ she gripped the arms of the rocking chair, fumbling to stand.

‘Don’t get up,’ I said, sharper than I’d meant to. ‘Agnieszka was here?’

‘Yes, my lord. She…’ her voice cracked a little and a coldness crept through my chest. ‘My husband. She…’ she pointed towards a curtained-off corner. I had no patience left – I strode across the room to look for myself.

Throwing back the curtain revealed a hideous sight. The man – or what was left of him – was caught forever in a howling, inhuman expression of anguish, his grey skin mottled and marred with signs of deep corruption. Agnieszka could have done nothing for him, so the soft-hearted fool had turned him to stone – another grievous waste. And yet, equally, she had also made him harmless. I felt impressed and furious with her in equal measure.

‘Agnieszka?’ I said again, trying not to look directly at the woman’s hope. I gave Danka a very small shake of my head – I knew more than anyone that nothing could be done for this man.

‘She… she left not long ago,’ the woman’s voice was trembling and barely above a whisper; she’d already seen more in my face than I’d had the courage to tell her.

I opened my mouth to ask ‘where’ when the first howl sounded, high and thin and painfully nearby.

‘No,’ I breathed, cold dread rolling through me. I was already turning towards the door, already pulling it open, my feet breaking into a run beneath me. All my exhaustion was forgotten in an instant. Out here, the snow was high and mostly unbroken; I could see a small trail of footprints in the light from the doorway, leading away into the dark – how had I not noticed them before? I ran after them, carelessly melting the snow at my feet with hot fire, my boots thudding hard against the dirt beneath. The Wood had come for her and, if I weren’t fast enough, it would snatch her away right out from beneath me. I ran.

When I reached the stable, the wolves were already inside – I could see their huge pawprints in the snow and hear the low rumbling growls coming from within. I didn’t have a moment to think, to even see the great knotted forest of vines and fruit and god-knows-what else, or to notice the twisted bodies of wolves trapped within it. I could feel her magic, a fragile heartbeat beside my own, and I knew instinctively where she was. Without a moment of thought, I threw my magic behind words of strength and rending, using a sharp gesture to tear the wall of stable free and throw it one side.

She tumbled backwards and fell to my feet, panting, safe and gloriously alive. Behind her, the wolves howled in anguish: they knew the moment they saw me that they were undone. In my fury, all my magic rushed like liquid fire to my lips and to my fingertips. They leapt towards me and I _broke_ them, snapping them with my magic and crushing them beneath my will. Each of them fell with a dead thud into the snow at my feet, their bodies shattered and their yellow eyes dull and glassy in death. It was done.

I looked down to where she huddled with her friend in the snow, their arms twined tightly together, her face pale and her body trembling. She looked up at me with wide, unblinking eyes, half relieved and half still afraid. I just glared down at her. I felt sick with relief, but adrenaline still pounded through my skull, and all I could think of at that moment was how _stupid_ she had been. What had she been thinking – to leave the safety of the tower, to ride out here with no knowledge, no real magic and no _idea_ of what she was getting herself into?

‘Of all the idiotic things you might have done, you monstrously half-witted lunatic of a girl—’

Her lip curled in that way it always did before she bit out some fool answer, but before she could speak the girl at her side cried out: ‘Look out!’

I snapped my head to the right just in time to see the wolf leap for me. I threw out my arm, the magic already in my mouth, but it was too late. As the beast died, it reached out one raking claw and drew it down across my forearm: a scrape, nothing more – but it was enough.

I watched the thick drops of my blood splatter against the white snow as if it were happening to someone else. The weakness hit me immediately and I sank down to my knees: the corruption was already in my blood. Gripping my arm tightly at the elbow, I directed every last inch of my magic and strength to hold it back, trapping it in my arm. Thin golden light was leaking from my fingers, but below them I was already turning: shadows slithered beneath my skin and the flesh was turning a putrid, sickly green. It burned with heat and froze with searing cold in equal measure, and behind the pain lurked something far darker: a presence; a pressure; a sense of something being eaten away.

Agnieszka was before me, the golden elixir in her hands, and I felt a thin sliver of hope where I knew I should feel none. ‘Pour it on,’ I said through gritted teeth.

My whole body clenched with the pain, a hot searing agony radiating along my arm and up into my jaw. I made myself watch – watch as the gold liquid slid uselessly away, the ugly black wound never receding, only slowing slightly it its growth. My veins stood out from my skin, thick with poison and purple against the necrotic flesh. I felt like I was looking at something else – at someone else. This couldn’t possibly be _my_ arm. And it wasn’t: it already belonged to the Wood.

‘The tower,’ my voice came out in a stiff whisper. I had to get away from them. If nothing else, I needed to get back to the tower – lock myself in and find a way to die. Every inch of my strength was pouring through my fingers, holding the corruption at bay; Agnieszka was my only hope. ‘Listen: _Zokinen valisu, akenezh hinisu, kozhonen valisu_.’

For a moment she looked at me with that terrified, blank expression that she so often wore in my library, and then something changed. Her eyes narrowed – hardened – and she got to her feet.

‘Tell Danka she has to send someone to the tower,’ she said, her voice clip and firm. ‘If we don’t both come out and say everything’s all right, if there’s any doubt – burn it to the ground.’

Then she was kneeling back at my side. I managed a quick glance towards her friend and saw that the bright scarlet bottle of fire-heart was clasped tightly in her hands.

‘Good,’ I said. Even through the pain, I felt a swell of relief and gratitude: she understood. If I were to turn completely, the corrupted thing I would become would be more terrible than anything the Wood had ever loosed upon Polnya. If nothing else, I had to die.

She had to kill me.

All I had to do was hold back the corruption long enough to give her the chance. It was that thought which filled my mind as she spelled us through to the tower, her firm hands tightening around my arm.


End file.
